Horse of a Different Color
by vanillafluffy
Summary: When the HankMed crew is summoned to an elaborate party to help a fallen guest, Evan is grossed out, Hank has qualms and Divya's childhood hobby is going to play an important part in saving Wilma. Just typical day in the Hamptons!


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Horse of a Different Color

Hank steps away from the table at Joe's Crabs---just for a minute---to say 'hi' to Jim Harper and see how he's doing after the interferon treatment. When he returns, Evan is talking into the phone Hank's left beside the basket of onion rings and assuring someone that HankMed will be right on it, just text the directions to this number....

"What have you gotten us into now?" Hank inquires, grabbing a ring.

"Somebody collapsed at a big swanky 'do'---the caller said everyone is very upset, it's ruining the party." Evan is squirming like a six-year old. "Come on!"

Divya produces the keys to her Land Rover. Hank grabs one more onion ring---they're still warm, darn it!---and they head off to save the day. Or at least the party.

"It's someone named Wilma," Evan informs them. "How many people are named Wilma these days? She's probably really old and really, really rich. If you save her life, she might be grateful enough to remember you in her will or something."

"What an awful, ageist thing to say!" Divya responds indignantly. "You'll be old someday---is that how you want people to think of you? That you're worth more to them dead than alive?"

"Hey, there's a thought!" Evan exclaims. "Maybe Wilma's been poisoned by her heirs. Could you tell if it was poison, Hank?"

"Evan, you're overdramatizing. It could be something perfectly simple, like sunstroke."

"Which in an older person can be quite serious if they're dehydrated," Divya says thoughtfully. "Fortunately, we have an ample supply of intravenous saline solution."

"Turn left up here. Wow, some party---or maybe it's a wedding, either way, wow."

'Wow' is right. The driveway branches off, and Divya takes the fork that curves around toward a series of tents that look like they were designed by Louis XIV. There's a pearly white globe in front of the central tent, and as they get closer, Hank realizes it's a horse-drawn coach with a dapple-gray horse standing in front of it. That's clearly where the action is---maybe Wilma's been trampled by the horse?

At first, he thinks it's a wedding party---it's certainly elaborate enough---then he observes the fact that they're all girls in shiny, frilly party dresses. Average age, about six. They all look like they're wearing their older sisters' prom gowns. Wilma was probably named for her grandmother and would rather be called Princess.

He zeroes in on the two adults who seem to be clustered around a fallen swathe of silver-gray. "Excuse me, doctor coming through. Hi, I'm Hank, and---" He stops short and stares at the 'patient' supine on the grass.

Wilma is a horse.

"Thank god you're here!" says the taller of the two women. She's forty-something, showing skin damage from an outdoorsy lifestyle. She wears boots and breeches and a jacket with brassy epaulets. "Wilma was restless when I hitched her up, we pulled the birthday girl from the house to the site---" She waves a hand toward the mansion in the background, "I've never seen her balk before---I've only had her for a few weeks---but she tried to stop several times. Thank god Freddie's so steady, he kept her going. Then when we got here, she collapsed. I'm afraid it's colic!"

"Colic's not very serious," Hank soothes her.

"Actually," says Divya, sinking down to look at Wilma, "colic _is _very serious---in horses. Unlike colic in babies, where they can burp up the air, horses can't burp or vomit and can twist an intestine while struggling."

"I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian!" Hank protests.

"You've got to do something!" the other woman says. Hank figures she's the hostess, mother of the bride---er, birthday girl. She's not as fussily dressed as the girls, but he's learning to recognize expensive clothing, and she's definitely put some money into her presentation of party-casual.

"Hank!" Divya's call gets his attention. His associate is running a hand down the horse's side, looking for all the world as if she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Excuse me." He kneels down beside her. "I hope you have some idea what's going on," he mutters to her, "because the closest I've ever been to a horse before this was at a petting zoo when I was nine. And it stepped on my foot."

Divya smiles at looks up at Wilma's owner. "Congratulations, it looks like you got two for the price of one. Your mare is foaling."

"She's what?" Hank and Evan ask at the same time.

"It's okay," Divya announces to the little princesses who've been watching the grown-ups in action. "Wilma's going to have a baby horse!"

"This is _not _appropriate entertainment," says the wide-eyed hostess. "Girls, come on, let's have lunch now." She herds them back to the grand tent and it's just the four of them.

Hank and Divya examine Wilma, who seems fairly stoic about the whole thing. She's snorting a bit, but she's not in enough distress to disturb the little ladies' luncheon. Her owner paces nearby, concern furrowing her forehead. Divya sends Evan to the Land Rover for sterile gloves and alcohol.

The birthday tent sparkles in the afternoon sunlight. There are ribbons of crystal swaying in the subtle breeze, sending rainbows of light into the tent. They play across the surrounding area, dappling the mare with color. It's like the scene in "The Wizard of Oz" where the carriage horse changes color from shot to shot. Hank's heard somewhere that they'd used food coloring to get the effect. This is more delicate, as if Wilma's own mottled color is trying to spontaneously change to something more vivid.

"So," Evan says to Wilma's owner after he's delivered the requested supplies, "Fred and Wilma. Let me guess, the horse you had before Wilma was named Barney?"

She's standing beside Fred, rubbing his muzzle. For a boy horse who's wearing a rhinestone-studded harness, he's remarkably blase. "No. Ginger."

"Evan R Lawson, CFO of HankMed. You do a lot of these gigs?"

"Anna Sewell, The Great Pumpkin Coach Company of Vermont." She's looking at Wilma, not Evan. "I bought the coach from Storyland when they went out of business. Amusement park in upstate New York," she explains. "I restored it, and I've been doing weddings and theme birthday parties and county fairs for fifteen years. It hasn't been easy, but I can't imagine doing anything else. I had to take out a loan against my truck and trailer to get Wilma, because Ginger tore a tendon and I had to put her out to pasture ---I had this party scheduled, and I thought it was going to help me pay that back but now---oh god!"

"Good girl, Wilma!" Divya is cheering.

"Am I supposed to be seeing hooves?" Hank asks nervously.

"Perfectly normal," Divya assures him. "Next we'll see the head. You might want to reach up and make sure it's presenting properly."

"This is a first," says Hank.

Evan looks away as his brother's hand disappears into the gray mare. "Eww, that's just wrong!" he says.

"I've got the head!"

"Line it up with the hooves."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Evan asks. "Did you want to be a vet and changed your mind?"

Their associate chuckles. "I've had ponies since I was younger than those girls over there. I've seen foals born before. And yes, the medical part was fascinating, but I didn't want to be a vet. People are more interesting."

"There's the nose!" Hank says triumphantly.

"Atta girl, Wilma, push!" Divya coaches the laboring mare, who is squealing now. Over at the tent, the sound system has been turned up to drown out the sound.

"Usually she pulls," Anna says with a shaky laugh. "Please be alright, sweetheart!"

When the small body slides free of its mother, Evan's knees buckle, and he sits down hard on the lawn. It's covered with...stuff. And the mare proceeds to pass another disgusting-looking bundle that Hank and Diyva nod over. Afterbirth? What the hell is that?

"Congratulations, it's a girl!" says Hank.

After a remarkably short recovery time, the mare is on her feet again, nuzzling her offspring. Divya sends Evan back to the Land Rover for a jug of distilled water to rinse off the newborn foal, and once the coating of blood and mucus is sluiced away, they get a good look at Wilma's offspring. Wilma's little wonder hints that she will someday have her mother's dappled coat, but her hindquarters are streaked with darker lines criss-crossing her rump like a giant fingerprint.

"This is extremely rare," says Divya, shaking her head.

"Where did you get Wilma?" Hank asks Anna. "From a zoo or a circus?"

"A small traveling carnival," she answers, looking at the foal with bemusement. "There was a zebra in the next enclosure."

"I'll bet anything that rare is worth some money," Evan says, and they look away from the foal to stare at him. "What?"

"He's right, though," Divya says, quite possibly the first time she's ever agreed with Evan. "This little hybrid could be a real money-maker."

"Spots and stripes?" Hank marvels. "That's amazing."

The filly tries to stand, teetering, topples, tries again. This time she makes it, and her mother is right there to offer nourishment. The little girls come swarming over to see the foal, and it's all the staff of HankMed can do to keep them at a safe distance as they 'oooh' and 'ahhh'.

"My daddy is going to buy that baby horsie for me!" one of the guests declares.

"No, mine is!"

"No, it's my birthday present!"

"Ladies," says Hank, raising his voice to be heard over their clamor, "She's just a baby, she needs to stay with her mommy until she's bigger."

They're disappointed. Anna wears a dazed expression. "She's going to save my life, she really is," she murmurs. "I'll be able to pay off everything, be free and clear---Wilma, sweetheart, thank you so much!"

There's a minor unpleasantness when Evan broaches the subject of payment. The woman Hank assumed was the hostess is in fact, the event planner, who says firmly that this expense is not covered by her budget and should be handled by the animal's owner. Anna's indignant. "They've spent more money on this kid's birthday party than I've seen in a whole lifetime of hard work and now they're bitching about a vet bill? Rich people, what assholes!"

"No charge," Hank says firmly to his brother. "I'm a doctor, not a veterinarian."

"Yes, Bones," Evan says with a sigh. "And besides, we don't want to get a reputation for this kind of thing or we'll be called for every hairball in the Hamptons."

Meanwhile, Divya has been on her cell phone. She disconnects and smiles at Anna. "I've taken the liberty of arranging stabling at the polo grounds for a few days so Wilma can recover. You won't want to trailer the foal all the way to Vermont so soon, and I think you'll have a better chance of getting the right sort of publicity there as well."

"Thank you all so much!" Anna says, with a sharp look at the planner. "You guys have been wonderful."

As the Land Rover pulls away from the coach, Evan quips, "Hiyo, Silver---and away!"

"Evan," Hank deadpans. "I wasn't wearing a mask."

Divya catches his eye and winks. "But you _are _the hero."


End file.
